Harold Jaffe's fiction

Latex Glove
by Harold Jaffe

cover image of Sex for the Milleniumfrom Sex for the Millennium
(Black Ice Books, 1999)

And that's a . . .

Double-duty sister's helper.

Looks like a length of garden hose--with two spouts.



What else?

Naked, except for their yellow latex gloves, they're sitting on the carpet, fingering the sister's helper.

Feels almost real.

It's better than real.

And it goes . . .

About a hundred and fifty miles an hour.

I mean where?

In your cavity and one of mine.

One of yours?

Yes. Any preference?

It's all the same to you?


Well how about back there?

No problem. We'll screw the other prong in you. Pass me the jelly.

Long pause.

Kind of snug, but interesting.

"Interesting." Good word. Do you see what I'm doing now?

What do you mean?

I'm looking at your feet.

How come?

You walk barefoot a lot, right?

I guess so.

You don't have any cuts or abrasions on your feet, do you?

Not that I know of.

Well, put these rubber booties on just in case.

All right. You know, it's warm in here.

It's the lights. We're being shot.



Who by?

Frothing-at-the-mouth fundamentalists. Who do you think by?


Right. Friends of the body.

The subjugated, pricked, pierced, scarified, amputated, pissed-upon body?

Now you're talking. Let's have a kiss.

What's that in your mouth?

An oral dam. Just pretend it's not there.

Yum. Peppermint.

Spearmint. The dam is flavored.

Artificially, I bet.

No. All natural.

Hang on. Is that someone sitting by a console?

Yes. Our rubber sister's helper has chips implanted in each prong. The technician's about to set them in motion. Ready?

I guess. How'll it feel?

Like the real deal. Only better.

Signals the technician at the console who presses certain keys.


You feeling it?

I'll say.

Rotate your hips. But don't let it slip out.

It's too snug to slip out, believe me.

Tug on my left nipple ring with your latex glove.

Like this?


Like this?


Like this?


Is there a chip implanted in our nipple rings too?

Of course. Here, I'll tug on yours.

Yow! That's neat.

You're feeling it in both places?

You mean . . .

Your nipple and where the sister's helper's screwed into.


Sighing, groaning . . .

Do you smell something?

Like what?

Sweet but . . . funky.

That's Frag-Corp. Our rapturous sighs have voice-activated the fragrance. You like it?

Is that "Corp" as in corporation?

No, as in body. Corpus, corpse . . .

Smells almost like someone's actual . . . emissions.

I like it even better. But it sometimes takes a little while to get used to.

You mean you've done this before?

Well . . .

You led me to believe I was your first.

Hang on. If you believed that, it was your own doing. I didn't . . .

I guess I'm old-fashioned, but when you touched my cheek with the back of your latex glove in the tavern on the green--

It was Astroturf.

And then displayed the tip of your tongue . . . Maybe that wasn't even your tongue.

It was the oral dam.

You wear that even in bars?

To be honest, it depends what I'm drinking. The dam is mint-flavored, okay? Mint and scotch--or bourbon--don't go well together. But mint and a medium dry white wine are fine.

It's unreasonable, I know, to expect sexual loyalty in this day and age. But I'm an idealist.

And I admire you for it.

Just as long as you're not promiscuous.

Not at all. Now would you take a deep breath and relax.

Okay . . . What's that?


When I breathed it tasted almost like cannabis, sucked deep into my lungs.

Right. Inhalations of four seconds or longer activate a cannabis-like emission, to use your word.

It's not real pot?

Real pot is illegal, lover.

But it sort of feels the same.

That's right. It heightens the sex. Now pull on this nipple ring with your right glove, and put the middle finger of your left glove here.




Almost. Little lower.


Higher. Tiny bit higher.



That's music.

Exactly. When you touched me down there with your left middle finger it activated the music.


The White Album. Are you pleased?

Well, to be honest . . .

Okay. Spread your right leg a little more. Take my left middle gloved finger and move it . . . there.

Sonny and Cher?

Right. You're pleased?

It's perfect. I love them. You know, since she had all those tucks and lifts and he became the Republican mayor of Palm Springs, it hasn't been the same. But their early stuff . . .

Was funky.

And sensitive.

Exactly. Okay, we've got our micro-environment in good shape. Let's get it on!

But what happens when we, you know, cum? Have our orgasms?

What happens?


You stick your tongue in my oral dam and whisper languidly: "Was it good for you?" I nod my head and stroke your chest with my left gloved hand. Then we lie on our backs and share a cigarette.



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